


Horror movies have impacted my life too much and this internship is not helping

by FarrynDecentlyWell



Category: Akudama Drive (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Eventual Get Together, Fix-It, Gen, Superstitious reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarrynDecentlyWell/pseuds/FarrynDecentlyWell
Summary: Really, what should your next career choice be? You're thinking something along the lines of pet sitting and an at home business.That is, if you can get out of this alive.
Relationships: Cutthroat (Akudama Drive) & Reader, Cutthroat (Akudama Drive)/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Horror movies have impacted my life too much and this internship is not helping

“Ah, fuck.” 

You had just started your internship at the executioner headquarters a week ago and already had everything gone to complete shit. 

You had hoped that this opportunity provided to you by your college would allow you to gain some credit among certain public figures, so when it was offered, you eagerly filled out the rigorous application and was only accepted by the skin of your teeth. Honestly, who would’ve thought a high “physical aptitude” was that important in a desk job? You could still feel the burn in your chest from the intense 100 meter sprint, goodness.

And now? That you had finally settled into your job and had started gaining favor among your coworkers, do you walk into the main hall to find every last one of them piled to the ceiling in some macabre art piece?

Jesus, you had just gone to get your superior a coffee for fifteen minutes.

The stench that had been permeating the air seemed to work itself into your own clothing and you couldn’t help gagging at your first whiff. You pulled the collar of your shirt as you looked around for anyone who was alive, malicious or otherwise. 

Stumbling back to the hall, you looked down to notice that the blood had actually started to seep into the cuffs of your pants, causing them to stick to your ankles as you walked. You contemplated removing them entirely, but decided that, given the situation that you were met with the people, presumably the akudama that are on the loose at the moment, who caused this, you would want to be spared the embarrassment of being chased in your underwear and meeting your untimely demise. 

Oh, goodness. This had to have been done by the one that was meant to be executed a day or so ago. What was his name? Murderer? 

Turning the hall and entering the break room, you set down the coffee you had been carrying on a small table and go to the sink to wash your face, wanting some sort of sign that this wasn’t just an insane dream. Standing up straight and wiping your face with your sleeve, you turn around and connect eyes with an executioner. A very much dead executioner. Whose throat had been slit clean open.

Ah, yes. That’s what he was called. Cutthroat.

Thankfully, you were an optimistic person (tentatively) and reasoned that such a volatile group must have moved away from your area. This, you hoped as you took that coffee and poured a bit out in front of the man so clearly dead in front of you. Having always been a superstitious person, you thought it best to appease the spirit of the man. Satisfied with your job, you chugged the rest and allowed the liquid to burn the inside of your throat and take you away from reality, just for a moment. 

Well, there are a few options that you had to consider. One: you can risk it and head to the locker room to retrieve your phone so you could maybe call someone. (Though you couldn’t imagine who you would even call). Or two: you could wait here for help. (You highly doubted that any executioner in the nearby vicinity would assist you nor do you believe that the next person to find you would be friendly.)

With that in mind, you decide to go with number one, if only to just get out of the room with the dead body, which you could swear has been watching you. 

Creeping out the door and down the hall, your shoes can’t help but make a sickening  _ squish-squish-squish.  _ You decide that, if you get out of this, you will not be accepting a job in this career path. 

During the seemingly endless trudge, you walked past a rather grandiose door that was cracked slightly open. You recognized it as the place that the executioners keep their weaponry and you feel your stomach begin to drop to your feet as you maneuver yourself to be as far away from it as possible. The door may have been left open by some sad fellow in search of some form of defense, but having seen the amount of horror movies that you have, you knew that any cracked door might as well be an invitation for death. 

Yet, you can’t help but pause for a moment as you surveyed the door for yourself. Maybe you could also be a sad fellow, but armed? 

A quick dash and go shouldn’t hurt anybody, right?

Against your better judgement, you carefully pushed open the door and was once again hit with a wall of blood. Yet this time, the sight that accompanied this scent made your hands grow cold as you felt yourself stop breathing and your chest starting to become heavy. Because lying on the ground in front of you was none other than the mass murder Cutthroat, himself. 

Before you could completely spiral, you took in his whole body and came to the quick assumption that this man had his shit absolutely wrecked. From fresh stitches encompassing his calves and his right leg being completely blood soaked from what seemed to be a wound deep enough that it would bleed for hours. The dark red imperfect circle on the stark white of his button-up was also a clear indicator that the killer had finally given his swan song. 

But, more than any of that, the expression on his face was nothing like you had seen on the monitors. The Cutthroat that was shown to the public was always unhinged, a crazed lunatic that had ended a thousand lives and longed to finish more. 

Whoever had been the one to kill him was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Someone you’d rather not have any interaction with, so long as you have a say in the matter.

This man in front of you just looked sad. The despair that had wrought his face before his death seemed to remain in minute details, from the slight down turn of his lips to the wrinkle between his brows. Looking at him filled you with a sense of despair that you couldn’t quite describe. In fact this whole situation was getting to be a little much for you as you were shocked out of, for lack of a better term, shock. 

Squeezing your eyes shut to spare yourself from the sight for a moment, you took a deep inhale to ground yourself. Really, a normal intern such as yourself shouldn’t be feeling pity for a mass murderer. Or maybe he was a spree killer? You didn’t think you’d brush up on those terms any time soon. 

Either way, you still wanted a weapon and saw no real threat with a dead man in the room being your only company. With that in mind, you crept forward, shuffling to the right to put some distance between the two of you.

As you stepped cautiously, your foot came down onto something that was oldly both solid and squishy and you immediately lifted your boot to reveal  _ an arm _ .

“Oh! Shit, sorry!” You couldn’t help but let out a soft apology. On one hand, the man was dead and very much wouldn’t care. On the other hand, you did just step on his not-attached-to-his-body hand.

As you leaned down and wrapped your hand around the hilt of the saber, you couldn’t help but survey his face once more, which you have to admit, wasn’t that bad. Given the correct life path, the man could have easily been a model with how aesthetically beautiful and tall he was. That being said, he was a murderer, so you didn’t want to fancy him that much. 

But, leaning in closer and holding your breath slightly, you couldn’t help but feel like his face had become a little more relaxed and that definite downward curl at the edge of his lips had receded some to form a more peaceful countenance. 

Oh, god, you’re gonna get haunted aren’t you. This man is going to attach his soul to you and make you kill multiple people. You couldn’t do that, you have plants to take care of! 

You sighed audibly. It’s better to take your weapon and get the hell out before you scare yourself anymore with this depressing scene. 

As you had begun to make your way back to the door, you felt as if the blood that was coating your right ankle had become… warmer? 

Confusion lasted only a second as the once uncomfortable feeling of your blood soaked pant leg sticking to you grew unbearable and you dropped to your right knee, your foot no longer being able to support you. 

Looking to see just what the hell had happened, you shrieked as you saw the arm that was still connected to this  _ dead _ man had wrapped itself firmly around your ankle. 

Jerking your leg, you tried to wrangle it out of his grasp, only for the pressure to grow beyond what it was before and making you cry out from the pain. 

All too quickly, your leg was released and you sat on the ground to cradle it, pushing as far away from the source of your pain as you possibly could. 

In the silence that had followed that moment, the  _ dead _ man took a breath and as soft as ever, whispered, “You’re not Swindler.” 

What in the unholy Rasputin was this? 

You watched in horrified fascination as the man attempted to sit up from where he laid and was relieved when he let out a groan while failing to do so. You could maybe deal with a heavily incapacitated murderer. 

Soon the breathing that had started at a low volume grew ragged as the man let out a whiny moan and started to--cry? “Swindlerrrrr, why did you leave me? Please, please, please, please, just let me kill you.” 

Jesus, you knew he was crazed but childish as well? You really didn’t know how to handle this. 

You had let him continue until the complaints turned from terrifying to just annoying as he screeched out another, “LET ME KILL YOU!” 

“Um, excuse me? Mr. Cutthroat?” You sheepishly muttered from your corner, “I don’t think Swindler can hear you.”

The room seemed to drop in temperature as he finally stopped yelling. But sadly, he also stopped everything as he did that. Meaning the room was eerie as hell. 

Clutching your weapon to your chest, you moved to stand, wobbling a bit as you put weight on your leg. God, you can’t stand silence. “Ah, so anyways, I’m gonna leave, so you--you keep on doing whatever, I’m just gonna head home now.” Hopefully. 

“Wait!” You heard him speak from behind you as you were about to leave this stupid room and internally groaned as you couldn’t help but pause. “Don’t leave me to die alone.”

A thousand paranormal thriller movies flashed in front of your eyes. If you left him here to die, he may just be with you for all of eternity. Hell. He might-- yeah, yeah, you’ve already thought about this. Maybe you could try bargaining?

Turning around and leaning on the frame, you looked down at what you were now certain was a very pitiful sight. “Are you sure you want me to stay? I mean, I’m really just an intern here--”

“Yes!” He rudely and harshly interrupted you, “Please stay with me, please?” 

May God have mercy on your soul. 

“Fine! But only because the outside world is a little crazy right now and don’t try any funny business! I’ll have you know I’m armed,” Your threats were made less effective as your tone betrayed your fear. 

“I’m very happy, thank you,” Cutthroat’s voice dropped its childish tone and simply slipped into something a little more creepy. 

You moved to sit in the corner that was closest to the entrance of the door, plopping yourself down in angle so that you could watch for anymore threats. 

“Can’t you come closer?” Why was his voice so meek?

“I feel like you’re just trying to kill me.”

“Noooo, I want company,” You watched as his lower lip pouted a bit and you let out a scoff in disbelief. 

“Yeah, yeah, and you’re not just thinking about bruising my other ankle, yeah I got it.” 

You watched as his lips twinged into a small smile and then slipped into a false, apologetic one. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you, please forgive me.”

You shook your head at him while fiddling with the weapon in your hands. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“If you’re so cautious, why didn’t you just leave? I wouldn’t have been able to chase you if you had just ran. Maybe you really do wanna get killed by me!” 

Letting out a disproving sound, you decided to just tell the truth as you were, in all accounts, a shitty liar, and you did not want to get into an argument with a man child. “I was afraid you’d haunt me.”

A laugh that you had only heard on TV echoes throughout the small space, chilling you to the bone and quickly followed by harsh coughing. You leaned further into the wall as he regained his breath. “You thought I would haunt you?”

“Well, yes, because when stuff like this happens in horror movies, the person always with them last gets haunted and I don’t want that to happen to me--stop laughing!” 

“Hmm? Are you sure I won’t haunt you if you upset me?” What a cruel face.

You squawked, “Shut up! How about you, huh? Never thought the people you killed wouldn’t haunt you?”

“If they did, I wouldn’t be as lonely, now would I?” He mused. 

Rubbing your face harshly, you peeked through your fingers to see that he was once again trying to get up. “Are you sure you wanna do that?”

“But I wanna see youuu,” Cutthroat whined.

You scrunched your nose, “Why? To memorize my face for the after life?” 

He then blew a raspberry in the air, “Please help me sit up,” he begged.

“You know, you’re dropping a lot of pleases, I’m starting to think you don’t mean them,” But either way, you couldn’t stomach watching him struggle, especially when you watched as he learned that his amputated arm was light enough to wave in the air in front of him. “Jesus, fine, I’ll help you, please stop doing that, how is it not bleeding everywhere?” 

Standing up, you walk towards him and go to the right side of his body, which was thankfully armless, and you look closely to see that the wound was completely cauterized. Lucky dude. 

Now, while you don’t wanna get all handsy with a guy that just killed and stacked 70+ of your comrades into a sinister version of a Jenga tower, you also couldn’t think about the right way to lift him other than getting close and personal. 

“Okay, so I’m gonna try to sit you up, please don’t strangle me,” You spoke as you scooped your arms under his shoulder and lifted him in a one sided hug. The smell of pennies was horrendously strong this close, but you could actually smell something sweet underneath of it. Was that marshmallow? 

You felt him sniffing your shoulder back, “You smell great!”

“Uh, thanks?’ You set him gently on the wall, your arms burning from lifting him. 

With your faces not even sixes inches apart, he finally opened his eyes and connected them with yours. What a pretty shade of-- “Like death.”

You take it back, this man is so ugly. 

He frowned, “But you’re so ugly.” 

You couldn’t help but react to the insult, as it wasn’t everyday you were called ugly. In fact, you were very much up to your own beauty standards. And from someone who’s kill count was high enough that he took out a reasonable fraction of the population of the city? “Well, I guess I can say the same to you.” 

He pouted, “That’s not very nice.”

“Well, you called me ugly first,” You stood up and began to move away, only for his left hand to grab your shoulder with speed you didn’t think he had. 

“Stay here,” Cutthroat pulled you to sit next to him, leaning himself to use you as a pillow. “Seeing far away is hard and I’m so cold.”

You flinched as he wrapped his hand in yours, “Yeah, blood loss will do that to you. So, uh, are you not in pain?” 

“Yes, but I don’t care. Your hands are at least neat,” he said as he brought them closer to his face. 

“Yeah, ok,” You rolled your eyes, but continued to let him look at your arm. Honestly, you were going to have to reevaluate all criminals for how threatening they really are, cause this guy may have a reputation, but his behavior is certainly-- “Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing?” 

“I’m hungry,” Cutthroat spoke with your hand in his mouth.

Pulling your hand away, to which let out a groan that you ignored, “You can’t eat my hand!” 

“Pass me mine then,” he made grabby motions at the disembodied hand on the floor to your left. 

“Yeah, no. Gosh, how old are you anyways?” 

“27,” He replied, bluntly. 

You stilled for a moment. “You are not 27.” 

He only hummed in response. 

Yeah, this is getting nowhere. “Okay, dude, I’m not a fan of watching people starve, nor do I like the idea of someone dying because of my neglect, so I am going to head to the break room and get you a snack, is that ok?

Purple eyes held yours. “What if you come back and I died while you were gone?” 

“I don’t know if I’d be able to handle that,” You answered honestly.

He stared at you for a second more. “Ok, but I don’t like bitter things, so don’t get bitter.”

You shook your head as you stood up, “You promise you won’t move?” 

“I don’t think I can.”

“Yeah, that checks out.” 

You limped to the door, cursing the killer for your ankle as you peeked your head out and looked up and down the halls. “I’m leaving now and if I get murdered I will equally haunt you as much as you haunt me.”

“Two ghosts. Isn’t that just friendship in the afterlife?” You heard him ponder as you finally got fed up and left to go back to the breakroom. 

As you entered the area, you felt bad for not asking if he was allergic to anything but then reprimanded yourself with the fact that if he can’t die from being stabbed and dismembered, then he really wouldn’t die from anaphylactic shock. 

Opening the fridge, you spotted a tub of pineapple slices with a sticky note saying “Eli’s DO NOT EAT”. Sadly, you don’t think that Eli will eat their pineapple anytime soon. Sorry, Eli. 

You also spotted some bottles of water, shoving them into your arms along with a protein bar you spotted on the counter. 

Reentering the room, you found Cutthroat exactly where you left him, though a little more disgruntled. 

His head lulled into your direction. “What took you so long?” 

Ignoring him, you placed the food on the ground between the two of you and stated the contents of your loot. To which he said, “Gross, I don’t like water.”

“Well, that’s all they had for drink options, so I don’t know what else you were expecting,” You opened up the tub after taking the sticky note off. “And this is sweet enough for you to look past that.”

“What is it?” He leaned forward and sniffed the lid. “Feed it to me.”

You squawked. “Can’t you feed yourself?”

“No, ‘m tired.”

If this man did end up haunting you, you might just go insane from his childish nature and not his manipulations. Groaning, you stuck your hand in and picked out a small slice. “Fine, here you go.” 

You watched as he opened his mouth for you to place the slice in, and squirmed when he licked your fingers. “Did you have to do that?” 

“Your hand tastes like blood.”

“Gross.”

Regardless, you fed Cutthroat the rest of the pineapple and forced him to drink the water. Oddly enough, he started to look a lot better and it was starting to weird you out. 

“So, what did you think about my cake?” 

“Excuse me?”

He turned those pretty eyes to look at you with another awful and horrifying expression of what seemed to be pride. “The bodies I stacked for my Swindler.”

“You mean my coworkers? Yeah, while I give points for creativity, I gotta dock you into the negatives for the emotional damage,” You sneered, pulling your knees to your chest. 

A whine permeated the air. “What do you mean--you didn’t like them?”

Sighing, you rested your head on your knees. “Not really,” looking bad at him you saw that he had that same pitiful expression on his face, like you had just kicked his dog and said that you’re renaming it Slimey Gerald. “Look, do you have enough energy to feed yourself the protein bar? You should, it might make you feel better.”

“You’re nice,” He giggled as he  _ leaned forward _ and grabbed it for himself, his movements becoming much more smooth. 

God, was this an RPG? Did the pineapple miraculously restore his HP? What are you gonna do if he heals completely? Will he even die at this point? “Are you cool if I leave for a bit to grab my phone from the locker room? We can watch vids for a bit until you… you know.”

“Die? Hm, I think I’ll just go with you,” He proclaimed as you watched him put his left arm behind him, draw his knees to his chest, and  _ stand up _ . “I wanna find something to stop the pain in my leg anyways.” He reached his hand out to you. “Come on.”

Through your shock, you managed to have a couple of realizations. One, when you left, you also left the weapon, which was  _ nowhere to be seen. _ Two, you had become so accustomed to the situation you forgot the man next to you was a  _ murderer _ . And three, you just nursed a  _ murderer _ back to enough health that he was once again a threat. An armed threat. 

Great job, bozo. 

“Can politely decline?”

“No.”

“Well. Gee. Okay,” You placed your hand in his, allowing him to pull you up. 

Cutthroat laughed and leaned so that your faces were closer. “You’re my new best friend.”

Cue horrified screaming. 

“You’re not gonna die any time soon?” You seemed to plead.

“No, I’ve been worse.”

Frantically, you looked about the room for a reason to stay and only saw-- “What should we do with your arm?”

“Hm? I wonder if Doctor could reattach it again,” Your eyes bulged as he bent down and picked it up, resting the palm so that it framed his cheek. “Do you think we could find her? While I’m not keen at her trying to take my Angel’s death from me, I think we could ask nicely.” 

Putting your hands in a prayer motion at your mouth, you purse your lips before you say, “Cutthroat, I’m just an intern.”

“But you helped me?”

“No, I kept you company cause I thought you would die and haunt me.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” 

Groaning, you decided to stop pushing the matter and just get your phone. How long had the two of you been together, anyways? An hour, tops? Not a long enough time to claim someone as your friend. 

As you led him to the locker room, you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder to see if anyone else was going to try to kill you. Feel a nudge on your hand, you jump and look down to see that Cutthroat was trying to place his not-attached hand in yours.

“Hold my hand if you’re scared,” His lips pulled back into what looked like it should have been a smile but was really just a leer. 

“I’m fine! Please don’t do that,” You groaned as he persisted, finally caving and wrapping your fingers around the very much cold and stiff ones of the hand, much to his amusement. 

Just when you didn’t think it could get any worse, you heard a very low and feminine voice not too far ahead of you. “Cutthroat, I knew you’d be here.” 

Two. Two more. Two more criminals have joined the party. Yay. You wanna go home. 

“Doctor!” You feel the hand in yours being wrenched out of your grasp and chucked across the room at the very beautiful and very voluptuous lady standing next to the oddly rough and attractive punk that looked like he very much did not want to be there. 

What’s with these criminals being hot? From what you can remember of their mugshots, the rest of them are also extremely pleasing to the face. If you’re pretty are you more likely to commit a crime?

No, wait, some executioners are also hot. Maybe it has something to do with bloodlust. 

“Who’s this?” The green pompadour saunters up to you, in a very clear act of false threatening vibes. 

“I’m an intern.”

“Oh, yeah? And what does an executioner intern do?”

“Sort files and get coffee.”

“Oh. Huh, thought it would be, I dunno, more murderous,” He slouched back away from you. 

You stared at him and quickly recognized him to be the only other sane party member. “You know what, bud? Me too.”

You felt Cutthroat's arm come around your neck. “Hoodlum, Doctor~ This is my new friend Intern.” 

“Uh, I have a name?” 

“No, you don’t,” He booped your nose. “Anyways, Doctor, can you please reattach my arm, I’m not very good at stabbing at the moment.” 

You watched as the pretty lady smirked slightly, “Only if you agree to a deal with me. There are certain things I need to do, and I would like some adequate protection,” You watched as she lifted the arm and placed a finger in her mouth, “And I would like that one to open a couple doors for me.”

Yup, okay, you were not working in the government if you survived this. Maybe you’ll go into opening a home business. Or just never leaving your house. 

Cutthroat hummed for a moment, then straightened himself entirely to his full height. Jeez, he does not look his height. “Okay! But you have to promise to let me be the one to kill Swindler.”

Poor Swindler. “Uh, can I grab my phone still?”

Hoodlum pulled a face, “What, so you can call the police on us?”

“Do you think I can call the police at this point?” 

He paused, “Good point.” 

“Police or not, I’m not going to run the risk of you disclosing any information about our whereabouts, so no,” Doctor walked up to you and Cutthroat, pulling a needle holder and suture needles out of nowhere. 

You and Hoodlum watched in fascination as she literally sewed his arm back on in front of the two of you. And as you watched Cutthroat look at his arm in glee, you felt almost happy for him? In a ‘Good for you kind of way’, at least until after this action, where he fell forwards onto you and Hoodlum, Doctor stepping gracefully out of the way.

“It appears that he’s lost a lot of blood,” She watched as the two of you struggled to keep him upright. “Would there be any bodies around for me to use as a blood source?”

“ _ Excuse me _ ?”

“You’re right, we wouldn’t know their blood types nor his,” Doctor leaned back and thought for a moment. “Well, I could at least heal his leg.”

Having said that, she stepped up to him and  _ pulled his pants down.  _ You and Hoodlum screeched and covered your eyes, to which she replied with, “Oh, grow up, he has underwear on.” 

Tentatively taking your hands off your eyes, you were met with the sight of the deep wound on Cutthroats thigh, having turned a gross shade of purple that spanned the upper half of his leg. “Jesus.”

Hoodlum let out a breath, “Seconded.” 

You thought for a moment and came to terms that if you really were going to be forced to ride or die with these people, you should at least not let the muscle die. “Uh, so, you need O- blood, right?”

You watched as the Doctor paused in her ministrations and looked up to you. “Yes?”

“Well, I have O- blood, so I wouldn’t mind maybe giving some up to him?”

She sat back on her knees, “And why are you so eager to help him? You do know he’s probably thinking about killing you, right?”

“Idon’twanthimtohauntme,” You said as quickly as you could, to which you watched her move her hand over her mouth to cover her smile, but eventually just devolve into cackling. 

“You know what?” You turned to look at Hoodlum. “You’re not wrong. That would suck, to have Cutthroat haunting you for eternity.” 

“See!” You tried to speak over Doctor's laughter. “You get it!”

“Superstitions aside, the blood would be appreciated,” She pulled an empty blood bag from--where does she keep all of this medical supplies?-- and instructed you to lie on the floor. 

At least the carpets are soft and not blood-soaked in this specific area. From the times that you donated before, you roughly knew the process, but you were shocked when you didn’t feel any pain as Doctor stuck the needle in your arm. “You’re very good at this.”

“Wouldn’t be called Doctor if I wasn’t,” She smiled--or leered, you were having trouble distinguishing the two anymore--down at you, moving back to Cutthroat to finish his leg and apply ointment. 

With his leg finally wrapped, you watched Hoodlum pick him up and prop him against the wall much like you had. You couldn’t help the laugh that came from your throat.

“Hey, shut up.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you, ahah.” 

Doctor came back over and pulled up the bag after it had finished filling, pinching the tube and removing the needle from your arm, having you hold a cotton ball over it and apply pressure. 

Sitting up, you became slightly woozy and once again did not understand how the hell Cutthroat was able to do anything when he was like this. Maybe he’s already a supernatural being. He looked like it. 

You heard a whine, signifying Cutthroat’s awakening and were not surprised when he complained about the needle in his arm, asking if he could just drink it instead. Doctor ignored him and came to wrap your arm up, securing it with gauze. 

“Huh? You took this from Intern?” He sat there shocked.

“Please don’t call me that.”

Doctor sat on the ground as primly as possible while she waited and motioned for Hoodlum to do the same. God, you really didn’t know what to think of this. “I needed the right blood and Intern volunteered.” 

“Not you, too,” You moaned

“But don’t you die when you give blood?” He cocked his head to the side. 

You waved your hand at him, “I’m very much alive, thanks.”

“That’s just when you stab people to get their blood,” Hoodlum rolled his eyes. 

Cutthroat looked at the bag and marveled at it for a second, raising a weapon that must have pulled from that large trench coat of his, poised to stab it, but thankfully stopped when you all yelled at him not to. 

“So, Intern-” Hoodlum began.

“Not my name.”

“Don’t care--how did you get into this situation without joining that pile of bodies that we saw before?” 

You sheepishly looked away, “I was upstairs getting coffee.”

“But isn’t there a break room right there?” He gestured down the hall. 

You made a face, “My superior doesn’t like the coffee machine in there and makes me get it from upstairs. He is--was, I guess--a bit of an ass.”

“Good thing I killed him then, huh,” Cutthroat grinned at you. 

“No, no, no, not really. He was gonna write me a letter of recommendation.”

He pouted, “I can’t write.”

Hoodlum nodded, “That surprises no one.”

“I could forge you a letter of recommendation, it’s really not that hard, I’ve done it multiple times,” Doctor spoke to you smoothly, propping her head on her hand. 

“Please, don’t,” You shook your head. “Thank you, though.”

“Why does she get a thank you and not me?” Cutthroat’s brows lowered in a very unhappy fashion.

You stared at him, “You killed my letter of recommendation.”

“You can kill letters?”

You narrowed your eyes, “I’m starting to think you're messing with me.” 

Hoodlum shrugged, “I dunno, man, he’s been more literal than this in the past.” 

“Cutthroat’s motives will always be elusive,” Doctor proclaimed as she started filing her nails with a medical grade file. 

You and Hoodlum nodded in agreement. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I really didn't want Cutthroat to die. He's such a funky man, I could never part.   
> This hasn't been beta read yet, so apologies for any grammatical errors. I also apologize for the length, lolol. I started and it just kept going and going  
> Please also imagine the reader pulling that scene from the spiderman with andrew garfield where the janitor is ignorant to the mass violence taking place behind him, ahaha


End file.
